Bonds of Trust
by BitterEloquence
Summary: A story from Soundwave's point of view about the night the Decepticon army made itself known to Cybertron and the lengths he will go through for a mech he can finally be loyal to. Possible trigger material  BDSM/Branding  Please, heed the warnings.


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

Warning:spoilers for IDW's Megatron Origins, dark overtones, sadomasochism and possible triggers for branding and other nasty slashy things.

Notes: Thank you to WyntirRose for betaing this evil little bunny despite it's nasty teeth and definite Monty Python origins.

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><p><em>It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.<em>  
><strong><span>-Marquis de Sade<span>**

It was our first definitive victory and the Decepticons were celebrating.

For a group comprised of rough and ready mechs who'd been oppressed and spat upon by society for time immemorial to have gotten some of their own back…well could you fault us for celebrating?

Sentinel Prime, the monster who had perpetrated the farce that was Cybertron's repressive society was dead.

Kaon was _ours_.

And for mechs who'd never had much of anything to call their own, it was a truly heady sensation.

For mechs like me…mechs who'd been crafted by the elite and the cast off as useless, it was the first of many chances to get a little bit of my own back from the slaggers.

Energon that had been hidden away and stockpiled for far too long while mechs starved on the streets was discovered and rationed out equally. No more would mechs shamble along forgotten and Empty while others feasted on the finest vintages.

Megatron had made that point painfully clear the moment a few of the lower-class mechs started to squabble over their rations. Share and share alike; it would become the Decepticon way. Be it the reveling in high grade or the agony of fighting against our own kind, we would all have our equal share.

But for now, such grim realities were far from our processors. We were drunk on high grade and on victory as the impromptu celebration grew louder and more factious. Even myself, a mech who prides himself on self control had imbibed more than was wise and was beginning to feel the effects. My balance was shamefully off when I staggered away from the noisome press of mechs in an attempt to retain some semblance of dignity.

It was hard to block out the confusing tangle of thoughts pressing in on me. Belatedly, I remembered why I did not overindulge in energon. With my shielding compromised, the inner thoughts of my new comrades crashed over me like waves across the Rust Sea. And just as with that damnable expanse, I found myself drowned and deteriorated by it.

With sudden urgency, I half hobbled, half staggered up the hill away from the other Decepticons. The more distance I put between us, the quieter it grew within my processor and I could breathe a sigh of relief. Finally far enough away from the rambunctious mechs, I gracelessly slid down a half crumbled wall that sat upon the litter-strewn ground.

Below, I could see Kaon. It was a half-burned wreck with lines of mechs congesting the roads in their desperation to escape. A part of myself considered why we weren't down there exterminating the cowards. After all, even if they had not participated in Sentinel's regime, they had stood by complicity while Prime and his lackeys had grinded us under his heel.

I idly ran my hand through the rubble surrounding my feet. It felt nice to tighten my hand around a chunk of crumbling rock and metal. I wondered if it would feel better closing my hands around the lasercores of those fleeing mechs.

"They're cowards…" It took every fiber of my self control not to jump when Megatron's gravelly voice came from behind me. Only belatedly did I realize the bloodthirsty thoughts I'd been entertaining were not my own.

Feeling decidedly chilled, I turned my head to look up at the glowering mech seated behind me in a macabre throne fashioned from what was left of Sentinel Prime's armor. Staring up at him, I felt my spark pulse once painfully inside its chamber. Megatron's fierce and cruel visage was as harsh as the battlefield he'd wrought today.

It terrified me, the intensity of this mech. He would burn me up and leave me a cinder crumbling in the night air. I'd never met a mech like him and truth be told, I wished to never do so again. Megatron was overwhelming with the sheer force of presence alone and now that my cherished shields were threatening to buckle, his angry and seething thought processes overwhelmed me.

I was surprised at the depth of burning hatred emanating from the burly mech. I was _very_ well acquainted with bitter hatred but compared to Megatron's rage, I was but a mere neophyte.

"Lord Megatron," I managed to grind out brokenly. With the harmonics programming in my vocalizer, you could barely hear the strained quality of my tone. "Query: Pursuit necessary?" It was all I could do to affect the broken syntax of my façade. I'd found people underestimated me when I was seemingly incapable of completing even the most basic of complete sentences.

It behooved me to have mechs assume I was little more than a mindless drone.

"No, considering the amount of energon everyone has consumed, we'd just make fools of ourselves and fail miserably in the process," Megatron said harshly. There was a grating sound in his tone. Like he was half swallowing the urge to growl. Considering he was leaking angry thoughts and hungered for more carnage, I knew he was doing his best to restrain himself.

Megatron did not suffer foolishness lightly.

I could sympathize with that sentiment and nodded my head sluggishly.

"Besides….I have other plans for tonight," he uttered forebodingly.

Curious and uncertain, I glanced once more at him and debated trying to deliberately glean his thoughts when my subtlety was dangerously compromised. No doubt I'd end up fragging the whole thing in a spectacular manner and I had the sinking feeling that Megatron would not take such liberties lightly.

No, he'd probably shoot me just for the sheer temerity of trying and failing.

"Come, Soundwave," the tyrant ordered with careless authority.

Normally, I would be outraged and offended by anyone treating me as mere chattel to be ordered around and bullied as they willed. But Megatron was different. He's unlike any mech I've ever seen before. The thrill of his power imposed upon my will both terrified and exhilarated me.

Finally..._**finally**_ I had found someone to whom I could attach myself. Someone strong enough and with a clear enough vision to lead me out of this hellish Pit my life had fallen into over the past few stellar cycles.

Once, long ago, I'd thought Ratbat would be that mech. He'd shown the necessary brutal survivalist viewpoint I'd been looking for. The Senator had climbed over a mountain of bodies to attain his position and I'd wrongfully assumed there would be a place for myself and my cassettes in his ranks.

I'd been pitifully wrong.

For a mech with such vast foresight, Ratbat has been just as mired and shackled by the same narrow-minded bigotry we'd faced for vorns. Never mind that fact that when I had Ravage sparked from Vector Sigma I couldn't afford a real protoform and had to settle for a primitive's one instead. Not that I am complaining about his final, and very useful form.

Never mind the fact that my creations were the best spies on Cybertron precisely because they had the innocuous looking forms they had.

To Ratbat, I'd been just a freak with a passel of unsavory creations.

I'd given Ratbat plenty of opportunities to do right by us. I'd given him vorns of loyal service yet he still treated me and my creations like a pack of pariahs. And now, I had found a mech who didn't belittle us, didn't look down on us because of the forms my creations wore.

Inside my chestplates, I could feel my newest cassette jerk within the narrow confines of my tapedeck. Ratbat would learn the error of his ways. Already, the last vestiges of his code were being overwritten by my own. Soon, he would be completely mine and there would be little chance for him to rebel or decide to not follow my orders. Until then, he would remain safely inside my chest.

"Soundwave...," Megatron rumbled dangerously. I'd unthinkingly gotten lost in my thoughts and had forgotten to climb to my feet. Lumbering upwards, I felt my gyroscopes whirl dizzily. Megatron deigned to hold out a hand for me to grasp so I could regain my balance with some shred of dignity.

Unfortunately, that dark hand just seemed to waver unsteadily in front of me and when I reached out to grab it, all I caught was empty air. Irritation flickered across Megatron's faceplates and the coolant in my lines ran cold.

He loomed over me threatening for a moment before reaching down to grab my shoulder armor and hauled me bodily to my feet.

"I trust this is an aberrant pattern and you don't regularly make it a habit of overindulging on energon on a regular basis?" Megatron had little trouble dragging me to my feet and his hands rested on my shoulders just long enough to ensure I didn't topple over before dropping away.

"Negative, Lord Megatron. Aberrant behavior: will not be repeated," I mumbled as I straightened myself to my full height.

"Good. I have little use for gluttons and weaklings," Megatron stated brusquely. "Now come, I have need of your assistance."

I silently followed him down to hill towards the festivities.

"Scrapper, have you completed it?" Megatron asked of the Constructicon commander.

Unlike many of the other Decepticons, the Constructicons were mostly sober, and judging by Hook's expression, were swiftly losing patience with the rest of Megatron's army.

"Yes, of course. Hook?" Scrapper glanced at his second as the other handed him a long, wicked looking rod.

It took me a moment to focus on it but I could plainly see the emblem Megatron was so fond of stamped onto the end of it. The Constructicons were transmitting an anxious sort of anticipation and it was easy to pluck the object of their concerns from their minds.

Beneath the visor I wore, I felt my optics widen fractionally as it played out in my mind. Surprise, outrage and fear flashed through me as the intent of that insidious looking tool became known to me.

Megatron was watching me like a cybercat eyes a juicy looking turborat. With the visor and mask, I was comforted by the assurance that he could not read my faceplates.

Around us, as though picking up on the mood, the other Decepticons ceased their revelry and fell into an uneasy silence.

"Do you swear yourself to me and to the Decepticon cause, Soundwave?" Megatron's reverberating voice carried over the crowds as a strange mixture of terror and aching anticipation coiled through my processors. Megatron wielded the rod -the brand- like he was back in the Arena. I was rooted in place by the conflicting emotion and found myself nodding in acknowledgment of Megatron's words.

"Yes, Lord Megatron," I all but whispered, so quietly the words barely carried between the two of us.

And as I watched, he flicked his thumb over the button that activated the branding iron. The metal heated rapidly until it was burning as hot as the sun to my optics.

Mutely, he offered a satisfied, brief smile before he pressed the burning brand to my chest. I met his optics and held his gaze as burning agony coursed through me at a belated pace. Metal bubbled and melted beneath the steady pressure of my tormentor's grip on the brand.

In that moment, I loved him-I _hated_ him. Until now, I'd never found pleasure in pain but beneath Megatron's hand, I discovered a sick sort of blissfulness twinning with the agony of the brand burning its way into my chest. Megatron's optics seemed to burn into mine and, perhaps it was just the sensations overwhelming my systems, but I would have sworn then and there that I saw the hellish burning of the Pits themselves reflected in his gaze.

To my mortification, I dimly heard a moan escape my vocalizer as I came to a pained overload. The world around us, the mechs surrounding our personal tableau faded to the background until all that existed was Megatron and I.

He saw, he _knew_ what had transpired between us and I heard his unguarded and perhaps intentional brush of thoughts against my own.

"_Yes, you belong to me now_," he whispered as though inside my mind.

To those outside, they might have mistaken my moan as one of pain but Megatron knew what he'd done to me and watched with obvious pleasure as my knees buckled beneath me and I sank gracelessly to the ground. That separated my chestplates from the burning brand and I became aware once more of a world outside of Megatron and myself.

Inside my chest, Ratbat was struggling within his confines and transmitting wordless distress. He'd felt the kiss of the branding iron and strained under the pain. My hand rose to cover the fresh brand as I wordlessly assured the new cassette that all was well.

Megatron made no move to help me to my feet this time. There were others around us, witnesses that would view and analyze something as simple as a helping hand as something that would lessen the both of us in their minds. Megatron could not afford his troops dismissing him and I understood that. Our thoughts ran almost in sync now. It was a parallel I was only used to sharing with my creations.

Thus, I climbed unsteadily to my feet. Megatron reversed the rod and presented it to me in silent entreaty for me to copy his actions. From the periphery of my vision, I saw Starscream's faceplates twist into an ugly mask of resentment and envy. The others might not understand the significance of Megatron's actions but Starscream understood it all too well. And he was deeply displeased.

That displeasure amused me and beneath my battlemask, my lip components twisted in a humorless smile.

I accepted the brand from Megatron and turned it on. The acrid smell of scorched metal still clung to the implement. As I waited for the iron to heat up again, I looked unflinchingly into Megatron's optics and silently conveyed my question about whether he was ready for this.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. I drove the branding iron into his chest and watched as he experienced the same agonizing ritual I'd just gone through. He took the pain better than me but I suppose he is used to it. All that escaped him was the quietest of gasps. Most mechs wouldn't have even heard that noise but I had keener audios than most. I watched and waited for the brand to do its gruesome work. The metal bubbled up and scorched beneath the brand and when I pulled it away, I could see the violent purple color of the Decepticon emblem glaring back at me from Megatron's chest.

With the loss of connection with the iron, so too did the connection between us wink out of existence and it left me cold and shaken. Falling back a step, I politely gave Megatron some much needed space.

"Now, who's next," the mech who now held complete control of my destiny stated cooly.

I watched, unsurprised, as Starscream pushed himself forward so he would receive the honor. The hateful glare he sent my way told me I'd made an enemy of the Seeker. I found I didn't care about him or his petty control issues.

As Megatron turned to brand the Seeker next, I faded into the background and laid my hand once more over the freshly emblazoned brand on my chest and did my best not to tremble.


End file.
